


Countdown

by Wilde_Shade



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Finger Sucking, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Oral Sex, Slow Burn'ish romantically, erotic asphyxiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 08:48:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7215682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wilde_Shade/pseuds/Wilde_Shade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Streetpig met Trashmouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 5...

**Author's Note:**

> I should be working. Instead, I got Overwatch and, inexplicably, fell hard for these two. I don't know how it happened. No one could have predicted this.
> 
> Anyway, here's the first in a projected series of short little, loosely connected oneshots. It's a bit gen at the moment, but I'm a hopeless sinner, so we'll see how long that lasts.

Roadhog was a one man apocalypse. You could not appeal to the better nature of an apocalypse.

It didn’t have one.

It was an apocalypse.

That did not keep the scrawny idiot before him from trying. “I don’t know who you’re going on about, I swear,” said the scrawny idiot. “Let me go, yeah? I’ve got a family waiting for me. Mom, dad, aunts, a nephew, two cousins, poor sick nan.” He squirmed at the end of Roadhog’s chain like a worm on a hook… or a rat, rather. This one was a rat.

“Junkrat,” said Roadhog, and his prey went very still. “Jamison Fawkes.”

Junkrat’s brow creased. His gaze dropped. Roadhog could see the wheels in there spinning. He didn’t wait for more lies. He didn’t wait for the inevitable stretch of bargaining wherein the doomed swore to countless promises they couldn’t keep. Roadhog hoisted the kid up beneath one arm and headed for his bike.

“Oi!” Junkrat squirmed. He was fantastic at squirming. Rats generally were. Fortunately, Roadhog was strong, and the chain was still wrapped tight. There was no escaping. The kid knew that. He couldn’t not. “Who are you taking me to, huh? Who is it? They’ll double cross ya.”

They wouldn’t. Roadhog was an enforcer - and the people he enforced for, well, they knew better than to double cross him. He would be paid like he was always paid. Promptly.

“I can do ya one better. Let me go and-” Here he was cut off as his breath left him with a pained, “Oof.” Roadhog had tossed him onto his motorcycle, between the seat and the throttle. “I’ll pay you!” Junkrat continued.

There it was. The bargaining. The kid didn’t have any money. He had nothing of worth - not on him anyway. What worth he had, Roadhog was about to cash in on. Roadhog threw a leg over the bike. It sank on its tires a bit with his weight.

“I don’t have any money on me exactly,” Junkrat continued after the briefest of pauses. “But I could pay you later. I’ve got… Well, you seem to know what I’ve got. That’s a tidy sum roight there, eh? Whad’ya say? You hold off on- whatever it is you’re about to do here, and we-”

The roar of the engine drowned out further elaboration from Junkrat. Not that he didn’t try shouting over it. At least the engine made him easier to tune out. Roadhog gave the kickstand a nudge and set off towards his employer’s camp up West. He set off… without Junkrat.

Christ almighty, that little fucker was squirmy! He was still chained. Roadhog cut the engine before he could drag him far. No one was going to thank him for bringing in a dead rat. He heaved a sigh, propped up the bike and followed his chain to Junkrat. The idiot was face down in the dirt. Roadhog gave the chain a sharp tug, flipping him on to his back. Junkrat coughed a bit in the dust that stirred.

“So- So! I was thinking. I think…” Junkrat talked faster than he thought. Roadhog could see those wheels turning again. At least the kid seemed durable. A little scuffed up maybe, but no worse for wear. He gave the chain another pull and kept on pulling, heading back to his bike. If he had to chain Junkrat to the chassis, he would. It was a lot of trouble, but the kid was a big payday. “We should work together!” Junkrat shouted suddenly. “You’re a… You’re a… big strapping lad. You could be the brawn, and I’d be the brains.”

Roadhog snorted at that. He reached down and lifted Junkrat up again. He took more precautions this time. He made sure he had him secured.

“Okay, not the brains.” Junkrat kept talking, because _of course_ he did. “I’ll be the- what do you call it? The ambition! You’re being wasted here, mate. You come with me. You be my bodyguard, and we’ll really stick it to em’. All those omnic lovin’ drongos out there- We’ll show ‘em. We’ll have fun.”

Roadhog wrapped the chain one last time. He paused afterward, long enough to take a look at the desperate, manic smile on Junkrat’s face.

“Fifty-fifty,” Junkrat said, eyes widening when he saw he had Roadhog’s attention.

That got a pause from Roadhog, too. Even in dire situations, people tended to try and haggle, to low ball him. Either that or they would offer him anything, more than anyone would ever hold up their end of when it came down to it. Fifty-fifty was a good number. It cut out the bullshit, and it didn’t insult him either. That wasn’t what made him pause, though. What gave him pause was knowing what the kid had, what he’d stumbled into in the omnium. Did Roadhog want that in the hands of the men he was working for? Not really. Memories of the ALF never strayed far from the back of Roadhog’s mind. They weren’t pushed quite as far back as memories of Mako, of life before… all of this.

Turning Junkrat loose wasn’t an option. Someone else would catch him, and Roadhog wouldn’t get paid for it. So, fifty-fifty and fun? For a bodyguard gig that was sure to be- Roadhog took another long look at Junkrat. Were the ends of his hair on fire?

Challenging. It was going to be challenging. This wasn’t worth it.

“There’s a bomb on your motorcycle,” Junkrat said plainly. He cringed after he said it. “You were hesitating, so I thought I should mention that.”

Roadhog snapped to attention, scanned the kid and noticed a homemade detonator clutched in one of those sneaky little rat hands of his. He must have freed it when he fell. Roadhog would like to say he was confident Junkrat didn’t have any explosives handy for such a stunt. But, if he hadn’t caught the detonator when disarming him earlier… Where was he keeping the explosives? …Never mind. He didn’t want to think about that. “Okay,” said Roadhog.

Junkrat’s eyes lit up. They had an inner fire about them, a certain spark that reached them when he smiled. “Okay?” he repeated. “Partners? Fifty-fifty?”

“Fifty-fifty,” said Roadhog. He didn’t like it, but between the voice in the back of his head nagging him and not being entirely certain he could get Junkrat where they were going without losing his bike or a limb… Roadhog began to remove the chain.

“Smart man!” Before the chains were completely off of him, the kid had wriggled through the last couple of loops and off the bike. He crouched low. For a moment, Roadhog thought he might try to run. Instead, he just put the front of the bike between them. “I already know where we should go first.” He spoke warily at first, gaining confidence the more words he got out of his mouth without Roadhog recapturing him. “I’ve got all sorts of plans. Some places are just two man jobs, ya know? What do ya say we-” Junkrat stopped talking. He looked at the hand Roadhog had extended, palm up. Junkrat looked at the detanator he still held. His smile faltered as he looked from it to Roadhog. “Sure thing, mate.” He forced another smile and handed it over.

The device was small in Roadhog’s great hand. He looked down at it and wondered if it had been a bluff. The way Junkrat held himself now, muscles tensed, ready to run or brace for violence - bluff or not, he was desperate. Roadhog extended his hand again and brought it down on Junkrat’s head. The kid cringed, but Roadhog moved slowly. He let his hand lay heavy against Junkrat’s patchy, matted hair, extinguishing the vestiges of embers still smoldering there. Junkrat eyed him warily but stayed put. Roadhog handed the detonator back and got back onto his bike. “Where to?” he asked,disliking the words even as he spoke them.

If Junkrat had been apprehensive before, that had dissolved now. He clambered up the bike. Using the back of Roadhog’s seat as a momentary foothold, he slung one arm around his new bodyguard’s shoulders and flung the other forward, pointing. “That way.”

Roadhog considered shoving him off but resolved to make a sidecar in the near future instead. He started the bike.

“Wait! Wait! It’s left! We need to go left!” Junkrat shouted over the din of the engine. He paused a moment then tittered with laughter. “You know what, mate? I’m all turned around. Just start driving! I’ll tell you when I see some landmarks!”

This was a mistake. All the same, Roadhog drove.


	2. 4...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Roadhog paints his nails, and Junkrat won't sit still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm enjoying writing about these two too much for my own good.
> 
> As a quick note, (since I think I only mentioned it on tumblr) Junkrat currently has all four limbs. For now. Because I'm weak woman with simple needs and can't resist writing my own take on... ya know. The inevitable.

 

 

Junkrat had unsteady hands. Radiation had done a number on most Junkers and the kid was no exception. A tremor would move through him sometimes, like electricity. He took it with good humor, but it struck Roadhog as a bad trait for someone who worked with explosives. Like now, for instance, setting a fuse. “Oopsy daisy,” he said, tossing the lighter to his left hand as the right gave a fidget that brought it dangerously close to the powder inside. “Nearly blew myself sky high there.” He tittered with laughter. “Ah well.”

 

Roadhog gave a grunt. Junkrat paused and looked back over his shoulder. Roadhog was a man of few words. Past employers missed most of what he said. He’d had to get their attention through other means. Not Junkrat. He was perceptive and had bizarrely keen hearing for someone who should have deafened themselves years ago. Maybe rats were just like that.

 

“What?” Junkrat asked, impatient.

 

Something in the cab had caught Roadhog’s eye. “Hang on,” he said, walking to it.

 

Their score was a truck. Neither of them had known what was in it or where it was going, but it was something to do on their way to the coast. It was a couple of Junkers on a supply run as it turned out. Roadhog knew the scum they worked for, and had made short work of one when he crawled from the wreckage, already firing blindly. Another got away, but he wouldn’t make it far. There wasn’t civilization for, at least, fifty miles, and it would be dark soon.

 

The score was good. Food and booze mostly. They took what they could carry, siphoned the gas from the truck. Junkrat volunteered to blow up the rest. He offered to blow up most anything. “Hurry up,” Junkrat complained now, motioning to his explosives emphatically. Perceptive the kid might be. Patient? Not so much.

 

Roadhog retrieved the fuzzy dice he’d had his eye on and proceeded to a safe distance away. He didn’t proceed quite fast enough for Junkrat’s taste.

 

“Come on, come on, come on! Move it, tubby!” Junkrat ended up setting the whole damn thing off before either of them were at a safe distance.

 

Roadhog made it a point to swat him on the back of the head when they reached the bike. Junkrat had his own sidecar now. He’d helped in its construction. He was handy. That was one of the few good things you could say about him.

 

 

They made camp a ways from the wreckage of the truck. Junkrat built a fire while Roadhog broke open some of the supply crates they’d secured. Once Roadhog had extinguished what Junkrat created and made them a more manageable bonfire, they settled in for the night.

 

They ate. They drank. Junkrat did considerably more of the latter than the former. The whole time he talked, going on and on about future heists together, each one more unlikely than the last. He kept talking until Roadhog cut him off, encircling Junkrat’s wrist when he reached for the bottle of whiskey between them. “What’s the big idea?” he demanded, snatching his hand back. His words were a bit slurred, his face flushed.

 

They needed to get an early start tomorrow if they wanted to make it to the refueling station and the shelter it offered before midday, when the heat would be unbearable for riding. They needed to stay on their guard tonight in case that Junker who’d escaped decided he’d rather double back and have a go at them. Junkrat was an obnoxious drunk. There were plenty of reasons why he was cutting Junkrat off, and he managed to communicate most of them with a look.

 

“Fine!” Junkrat stood and walked off a way, either to mope or to piss.

 

Roadhog finished the bottle of whiskey he’d confiscated and pulled a different sort of bottle from his pocket. He began to put a fresh coat of black over old fingernail polish that had mostly chipped away. It was a ritual he had kept up for a while now. He liked the thoughtful repetitiveness of it. He also just plain liked the look of it.

 

Laughter announced Junkrat’s return. “Well, that’s a sight.”

 

Roadhog held out his hand to inspect it, thick fingers splayed. He started on the next.

 

“So,” Junkrat began, picking up an empty bottle as he paced and chucking it into the distance. There was never a time when the kid wasn’t restless. It was exhausting just to watch sometimes, especially after a long day. “Do you want to fool around or something?”

 

The brush in Roadhog’s hand veered off the nail and to one side. He looked at Junkrat. Junkrat, in turn, rocked back on his heels and glanced away. The alcohol had Roadhog feeling a little warm inside but not warm enough for something like this. He’d like to say he hadn’t thought of the kid like that. He was a pain in the ass, probably near half his age. It had been a long time, though. Roadhog couldn’t remember how long and didn’t want to. He didn’t like thinking that far back.

 

Roadhog’s first thought was that Junkrat was setting up for an insult. The longer the silence stretched, the less that made sense. Junkrat was beginning to look annoyed, maybe a little embarrassed even. “Just thought I’d ask,” he grumbled, going back to his pacing. “Didn’t mean to interrupt you from your primping. Go on then.”

 

Roadhog did go back to painting his nails- or tried to, rather. Now his mind kept on wandering.

 

“I was just joking, mate,” said Junkrat, plopping down to sit in the dirt across from Roadhog. He punched him in the arm, making him slip with the brush again. “Lighten up.” He paused, seemed to realize he’d unintentionally made a weight related pun, and howled with laughter. "Ha! Lighten up! Sorry, mate. Unintentional."

 

Roadhog might have punched him, but his nails were wet. He started on his second coat instead.

 

“These fireside conversations with you have just been scintillating, Pig Face, they really have.” Junkrat’s eyes scanned their surroundings as if looking for something to do. “Talking about the mask,” he added. “Pig Face. Wasn’t another crack at your weight, ya know? Just the mask.” With his finger, he began to draw something in the dirt. “What do you look like under there anyway? Scars, tattoo, dashing good looks?” He looked up from a crude drawing of what might have been a pig to give Roadhog a critical sidelong glance. “I should really know what you look like, given that we’re best mates now and all.”

 

“Bodyguard and employer,” Roadhog corrected automatically.

 

“Right,” Junkrat mumbled. He brushed away his drawing in the dirt and reached for another open liquor bottle.

 

Roadhog swatted Junkrat’s hand away from it, regardless of whether or not it smudged his fingernail polish this time - which it did.

 

“Bodyguard, not babysitter,” Junkrat snapped, snatching his hand back. Even so, he didn’t make another grab for the liquor immediately. His eyes were fixed on it like he wanted to grab it but was afraid he would get in trouble. Of course, he was right, though. Roadhog didn’t have a say in things like this. He was just the bodyguard. Maybe Junkrat was reasoning that out for himself just now. After a cautious glance in Roadhog’s direction, he reached for the bottle again.

 

Roadhog held up his nail polish, offering it instead. He had a feeling it might catch the kid’s eye. It did.

 

“Ah.” Junkrat made a sound of interest and took the small black bottle instead. He gave Roadhog’s nails a thoughtful look then inspected his own. He unscrewed the cap and made an experimental go at painting his left thumb nail. Bombs he was handy with. When it came to painting with any degree of precision, apparently, Junkrat was abysmal.  He cursed when it dripped. He cursed when he fidgeted. He cursed a lot, in general.

 

Roadhog took Junkrat’s hand in one of his own, forcing it still. He took the brush from the nail polish with his other hand, wiping off the excess. Junkrat leaned in to try and watch. Roadhog’s hands swallowed up his own. Between that and his incessant fidgeting, it wasn’t easy. Fortunately, Roadhog had plenty of experience. He’d been doing this since long before the Omnic Crisis. Since he had been a kid sneaking out at night to go to metal shows with friends. Since he was Mako. Mako had been a long time ago. Friends even longer.

 

“This is just lovely, innit? Just a couple of guys, staying up late, paintin’ each other’s nails.” Junkrat was smirking and staring Roadhog down, on the verge of laughter. “You know all the best gossip, Roadhog.”

 

“Shut up,” said Roadhog. He wasn’t here for conversation. He was here to keep Junkrat alive. That was what he hoped to do, anyway. It was what he aimed to do. Still…

 

Roadhog finished with the first hand. “Looks good,” he grumbled.

 

Junkrat grinned.


	3. 3...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something bad happens.

 

 

The rest stop was a small one off the highway, set up in the wreckage of what had once been a truck weighing station. Junkrat might as well have a target painted on him, sure, but there weren’t many people here. Roadhog put one through a wall when he spotted him staring too long. One display of dominance was all it took. People kept their distance after that. “Don’t go far,” Roadhog told the kid anyway.

 

Junkrat stood up straight and gave him a mocking salute, but he still did as he was told. He circled the bike while Roadhog topped off the tank. “I think I’m going to paint it,” Junkrat announced, suddenly. (He seemed to do everything suddenly.)

 

“No,” said Roadhog.

 

Junkrat rolled his eyes and waved a hand like it was no big deal. “I’m talking about my sidecar, mate. Don’t overreact.”

 

Roadhog wasn’t sure anyone had ever accused him of “overreacting” before. “My bike,” he pointed out.

 

“My side car,” Junkrat shot back, flopping into it for emphasis. He pointed at Roadhog. “My bodyguard.”

 

Roadhog had to give him that one. He wasn’t sure why he even cared. It was the change, maybe. A lot had happened fast. It kept reminding him of what a mistake all this was. There was no undoing it now. Roadhog didn’t dwell on it. He filled up a couple extra gas containers. After that, it was back to the highway.

 

Junkrat didn’t like it. He wanted to stick around a little longer, stretch his legs, pick a fight with a stranger.

 

 

 

They needed to be careful. They were skirting Junkertown territory - a fact that seemed to make Junkrat oddly wistful. The whole Outback might as well have been unofficial Junkertown territory. Junkers had their little camps all over it. Still, Junkertown was different. It was Australia’s apocalypse concentrated. It was where the lawless fringes had gathered to make laws of their own. No one in its populace was innocent. You couldn’t be to survive.

 

Its suburbs were storefronts and strip malls, decimated by the blast and by looting. Roadhog and Junkrat set up for the night in the brick and mortar shell of a bank. The vaults were still there, but the whole thing had been gutted by scavengers ages ago. Roadhog hid the bike in an adjacent alley. Junkrat sat up in one of the broken windows, staring out into the horizon. Junkertown glowed with electric light there - a whole city that wanted what Junkrat had stashed away somewhere.

 

“Shame we can’t swing by,” said Junkrat, propping his chin on his hand, not looking back when Roadhog returned.

 

“You can’t go back,” Roadhog pointed out, in case the kid didn’t have the common sense to have figured that out on his own already. He really couldn’t be sure with this guy.

 

Junkrat threw an offended look over his shoulder. “I know that!” he snapped. He turned back to the window. “I figure we can go back someday, though. Don’t you think? No time soon but, eventually, when the heat dies down.”

 

The way Junkrat had used the word, ‘we’ reminded Roadhog that he probably wouldn’t be returning to Junkertown any time soon either. He’d thrown in his lot with Junkrat. He really should have thought this through more. “Sure,” he said - not because he necessarily thought they’d make it back to Junkertown, but because Junkrat had looked back at him again.

 

Junkrat dropped from the window, glass crunching beneath his boots. “Let’s play a game, eh ‘Hog?” He went to his side car and shuffled some things around in the bottom of it. “I acquired some games from the rest stop.”

 

Roadhog gave a disapproving grunt. He hadn’t seen Junkrat wander off. That didn’t mean he hadn’t.

 

“I’ve got a pack of cards, and I’ve got Candy Land.” Junkrat held both aloft. Both looked slightly singed. There was no telling how that had happened.

 

Roadhog supposed they needed to pass the time somehow. “Candy Land,” he said.

 

“Oh,” said Junkrat. “Good choice.”

 

 

 

It was night when it happened, and it happened fast. It was a howl of pain that roused Roadhog. It was a gun pointed at his face that completely woke him up. The man holding it panicked when Roadhog moved. The gun went off. The bullet glanced from Roadhog’s mask. With one hand, Roadhog grabbed the man’s face and slammed him into the floor. With the other hand, he pulled out his scrap gun. He did not miss.

 

A muffled bang drew Roadhog’s attention. He moved toward it and rounded the corner to find Junkrat standing over two more men. Corpses, probably, judging by their indifference to the fact that they were smoldering. That didn’t stop the kid from spitting on them. There was blood on his mouth. Roadhog laid a hand on his shoulder, making him jump.

 

“There you are!” Junkrat gave the hand on his shoulder a pat. He heaved a sigh, like he was relieved. “Can you believe this shit? Woke up to those two halfwits dragin’ me off.” The kid looked unhurt. Offended they’d made it around his traps, maybe, but unhurt. The blood on his mouth didn’t look to be his own. Roadhog imagined one of those poor bastards had tried to shut him up, cover his mouth and gotten bitten for their trouble.

 

Junkrat’s forehead creased, his brows drew together. He reached for the gouge in Roadhog’s mask but didn’t manage to touch it. Roadhog stepped back. He went to the window instead. Engines were revving outside. Junkers were gathered round, waiting. The three they had sent in were inconsequential. They’d know they weren’t coming back soon.

 

Junkrat came up beside him, looked out as well, and gave an annoyed ‘tsk.’ Roadhog turned to find him already digging in his pack of explosives. He pulled out a wad of wires tangled up like Christmas tree lights. Roadhog wasn’t surprised. Explosives were his answer for everything.

 

“Exits are blocked,” Roadhog said, looking for a defensible position to hole up in. “Put those away.” He’d bring the whole building down on them.

 

Junkrat could set a charge faster than anyone Roadhog had ever met. Being told not to hadn’t slowed him down at all. “It’s a bank, roight? So, get in the vault. These won’t get through steel that thick, mate. I know. I’ve tried.”

 

They stood a decent chance of burying themselves alive this way, but it was a plan. Roadhog liked it. “Okay,” he said, going to check out the vault. It was empty but intact. The door was heavy, thick like its walls. It faced away from what would be the epicenter of the explosion. That was good. Roadhog wasn’t going to risk closing it. Dying a slow death trapped in a room with Junkrat, without food or water sounded like just about the worst way to go.

 

Roadhog left the vault. He went to watch the lobby. Junkrat was still setting up in between the two, humming the 1812 Overture as he stuck a sinister looking mass of wires and putty on a load-bearing wall.

 

No one had entered through the main doors yet. Roadhog could see a few Junkers gathered around front, shoving one another. They needed to make their move, but no one wanted to be the first. Roadhog waited in the shadows, scrap gun at the ready for the first unfortunate few. They came. From multiple entrances, they came. It seemed they knew who they were dealing with - not just Junkrat, but his new bodyguard as well.

 

They had numbers. They had them surrounded. Junkrat had more explosives than seemed humanly possible to carry. At least there was that.

 

The Junkers would need to be in the building for that to work. It seemed possible. Likely even. Junkers weren’t tactical geniuses. If they attacked in numbers, you got a clusterfuck. Roadhog and Junkrat could pick off stragglers after. Assuming there was an after. Now, he needed to keep some distance between the Junkers and himself. Roadhog moved backward as he fired. He could hear them in other halls and above their heads. The ones who hadn’t come in through the front entrance were trying to find their way to the lobby. “Now,” said Roadhog.

 

At least Junkrat didn’t ask for more time. He was crouched near the wall, fiddling with the plunger on a handheld detonator. “Okay, well, never mind that then.” He pocketed the detonator. He turned to the nearest explosive set to go. He touched a screen, turned a dial. “Five seconds,” he said, followed by a noncommittal noise. “Five’ish,” he amended.

 

Roadhog held back any sound of aggravation. He started a count in his head instead.

 

Five…

 

Five seconds was good. Five seconds was enough if they hurried. Roadhog picked up a sturdy wooden table.

 

Four…

 

He threw it at the Junkers emerging from the hallway, blocking them off for the moment. He ran.

 

Three…

 

Roadhog wasn’t the best at running, but if pressed he could make a go of it. The vault wasn’t far. He was so focused on it, he must have missed the sound Junkrat made when he got shot.

 

Two…

 

Roadhog decided later the kid must have made a sound. It was loud with the gunfire and all those Junkers shouting. It still seemed unnatural, looking back, that he hadn’t been able to discern that grating voice over everything else. Maybe they hadn’t spent enough time together. Maybe that was part of teamwork, and maybe that was part of a learned skill that came later. At any rate, he only heard him when he was at the vault door.

 

“Wait!” yelled Junkrat, voice cracking with a kind of hopeless desperation Roadhog recognized.

 

One…

 

Roadhog stopped at the door. His instincts told him to move, but he looked back. Junkrat been shot in the leg, Roadhog found out later. He was was on the tile, trying to rise to his knees, trying to shake a Junker from his back. Roadhog could throw his hook.

 

Zero?

 

Junkrat was pinned back down as the Junker wrenched back one of his arms. He looked in Roadhog’s direction - eyes searching, realization hitting him in that moment Roadhog pulled his gaze away and stepped around the vault door.

 

Nothing?

 

Roadhog braced himself. He waited for the explosion.

 

A second went by.

 

Roadhog could hear Junkrat struggling outside. He could hear footsteps in the hallway.

 

Another second.

 

Roadhog readied his scrap gun. Footsteps neared the door. Junker footsteps, Junker gear rattling, Junker shouts growing closer. A few were going to get in. He started to wonder.

 

Two seconds.

 

The realization was a bad feeling. It hit Roadhog hard. He felt it in his chest like a throbbing kind of coldness. He shot the first Junker who made it through the vault door.

 

Three seconds.

 

He should have gone back. There had been time. Was there still time? Probably not.

 

The bombs exploded.


	4. 2...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roadhog is still Junkrat's bodyguard, but it feels like he's been playing a little fast and loose with that job title.

 

 

The ground shook and kept shaking. The bombs stopped, but the building kept coming down. The vault door swung on its hinges. Roadhog stopped it with his palm when it threatened to slam shut.

 

There was a Junker in there with him, wild eyed and scared, confused. It wasn’t Junkrat. It should have been Junkrat. The fact that it wasn’t made Roadhog inexplicably angry. He shot him before the Junker could make sense of what was happening. It didn’t help.

 

The worst of the destruction passed. Roadhog stepped out into what was left of the hallway. He could see the night sky through the ceiling. Chunks of plaster and insulation were drifting down. Somewhere, there was a fire. Roadhog could smell it. Somewhere, someone was shouting. Roadhog could hear them. Mostly it was quiet.

 

Roadhog moved to the place where he had last seen Junkrat. There was brick there now, broken drywall. Roadhog began to sift through it slowly, carefully. It was miserable work. It took him back to the war. He’d found people dead before. That was a horrible feeling - looking for someone and finding a corpse. It almost made him want to stop looking. _He’s dead_ , he told himself instead. There was nothing worse than hoping. Hope would drive you insane. _You fucked up. He’s dead. Make sure. Move on._

 

He wasn’t dead, though. It was the breathing Roadhog heard first. It could have been anyone’s, Roadhog told himself. He kept moving debris until he found a body. It wasn’t Junkrat. It was the man who had pinned him. He was a corpse now. A hole was burned in the back of his shirt. His skin was burned and black where something hot from the explosion must have hit him. Roadhog shoved the dead Junker to one side, and there he was. “Junkrat,” he said.

 

Junkrat didn’t answer. He breathed in deeper now that some of that weight was off his back. He coughed.

 

“Can you hear me?” asked Roadhog. Lightly, he touched his arm. “Jamison.” Junkrat turned his head at his name. He opened his mouth like he might say something but coughed instead. There was a lot of dust that had just been stirred up, and it seemed difficult enough for him to breathe already. “I’m getting you out,” said Roadhog, calmly. Right now, there was no point in being anything but calm.

 

Junkrat reached out, fingers scrabbling, grabbing near the tread of Roadhog’s boot like he didn’t want to be left again. That was a good sign. It was his left hand doing the grabbing. His right was pinned beneath a column that had broken and fallen. Roadhog worked to move it first. That was a mistake. He lowered it back. The sound Junkrat made when he did was unpleasant.

 

Roadhog reached to the Junker he’d rolled off of him and gave the tattered shirt he was wearing a sharp yank. The Junker had no use for it anymore. He tore off a wide strip and turned back to Junkrat. It had been a long time since he had tied a tourniquet. He tied it tight. Very tight.

 

Junkrat sucked air in through gritted teeth. He still didn’t say anything. That was probably the worst of it. The silence. Him making noise without actually saying anything felt unnatural.

 

Roadhog began to move the column. He hesitated and removed his mask instead. The air felt thick without it. It was most certainly full of more smoke and ash and powdered rock than he was prepared for. He coughed. The sound startled Junkrat. It must have sounded strange without the mask. “Stay still.” He slid a hand beneath Junkrat’s head, beneath his cheek.

 

Junkrat squirmed when he worked the mask over his face. His breathing was shallow and fast. Roadhog pulled a canister from his belt and screwed it into the respirator. “Breathe deep,” he said, even though he wasn’t sure Junkrat could. When he didn’t, Roadhog slammed the ground away from the piled rubble with his fist.

 

Junkrat gasped. That did the trick. Already, his color was looking a little better. Roadhog didn’t understand the science of the stuff in the cannister, just that he could find it on omnics and that it had kept him from bleeding out more than once. It also gave you a decent high. At least those walking scrap heaps were good for something.

 

Roadhog removed the mask and set it aside. He moved the column. The arm was gone. If it had been even partially attached before, lowering the pillar back down before had finished it off. Roadhog didn’t think Junkrat had realized yet. His head was turned away. If Roadhog was lucky he’d get him out of here before he looked. They were in a bad spot right that moment. There had to be Junkers still alive around there. If Roadhog was using his head, he’d go ahead and hunt them down. He wasn’t sure the kid had time for that.

 

Of course, it might not matter. The more debris Roadhog moved out of the way, the less he was liking Junkrat’s chances. The other half of the column had his leg trapped. He tied a tourniquet off above the knee before he moved it. Junkrat wasn’t quiet for it. It was over, though. He was out, for all the good it did him.

 

“I heard something over there,” said a voice.

 

Roadhog raised his scrap gun. He stepped over Junkrat and moved toward the sound, ignoring the kid grabbing for his ankle as he passed. He found the source of the voice in the lobby.

 

There were three Junkers. Maybe they were looking to finish off Roadhog and snatch Junkrat. Maybe they were just looking for survivors. Either way, they were a problem that needed to be dealt with. Roadhog hooked the first and fired a spread shot at the remaining two. One got a shot off but only managed to catch his friend on the end of Roadhog’s hook square in the back. “Idiots,” Roadhog grumbled when the last one fell. He turned to go back to Junkrat when one of the dead men caught his eye.

 

It was one of the men who had been in the truck they hit the day before. It was the one he’d told Junkrat to forget about, the one he had been certain would die before he found help. Had he found Junkers? Had he clued them in to where about Junkrat was headed and who he was with?

 

Roadhog shook his head. That wasn’t the same man, he told himself. Junkers all looked more or less the same. He was looking for reasons to feel guilty. Why was he looking for reasons to feel guilty?

 

Junkrat was still when Roadhog got back. He didn’t like that. Carefully, he picked him up. Roadhog thought back to when they first met. He missed the squirming. Junkrat wasn’t dead weight, but he was near enough to it that carrying him to the alley where he’d stashed the bike was awkward.

 

There were no Junkers on the way, which was good. Roadhog didn’t want to deal with more of them right now. He need to think. Near his bike, he sat down. Junkrat was still in arms, eyes closed. The mask was on his chest, rising and falling slow. He put that over Junkrat’s face again and gave the cannister another twist. “Breathe,” he said. Roadhog didn’t force a deep breath this time. Too much would kill him. Not that it mattered. The longer Roadhog looked at the situation, the more he realized there was fuck all he could do about it.

 

The right arm was bad, but the leg was worse. It probably needed to go. Roadhog had seen wounds like it before. He’d seen limbs crushed and what happened when they got treated like they were gonna get better. Not that amputation was an option. Roadhog could do basic first aid, - turn an ominic’s inner juices into something he could huff - but he was no field medic.

 

Roadhog set his mask aside again. At this point, he was just prolonging the inevitable. _You fucked up_ , he told himself again. _He’s dead. Move on._ Roadhog put a hand to Junkrat’s neck. It felt fragile when he had his fingers around it. One clean jerk was all it would take. Simple. Done. Not easy, though. Why?

 

Junkrat’s eyes fluttered open. Roadhog’s fingers twitched but didn’t twist. Not yet. “Oh,” said Junkrat. His eyes were dilated. He looked to be feeling that high. Roadhog hoped he was. “Thas what you look like.” His speech was slurred, but he had focused on Roadhog well enough. The corner of his mouth twitched into the drowsy beginnings of a smile. “Not bad.”

 

The faint praise threatened to make Roadhog chuckle. It made it harder to do what he should be doing. He loosened his grip, disguising the fact that he’d been about to snap Junkrat’s neck by pushing some sweat dampened hair from his brow.

 

Junkrat’s gaze went a bit distant. It was either the blood loss or he was trying to sort out what was going on. Probably both. “Some Junkers found us,” said Roadhog, filling him in, in case it was the latter. “There was an explosion. You didn’t make it to cover in time.”

 

“I remember,” Junkrat mumbled, alternating between between drifting off and near-lucidity. “You know…” He focused in on Roadhog again. “Yer a shit bodyguard.”

 

That did get a chuckle from Roadhog. Considering what he was still prepared to do, the kid had no idea how right he was. “We have to find a doctor.” Roadhog didn’t realize what he was saying until the words were halfway out of his mouth.

 

“Sure,” said Junkrat, though he didn’t much look like he knew what he was agreeing to. He might have understood the words Roadhog was saying individually, but he didn’t seem to grasp the severity of the situation he was in.

 

Roadhog carried Junkrat to his bike. He considered the sidecar but didn’t like the idea of constantly glancing over and wondering if the kid was still alive. If he was going to do this, he wasn’t doing it for nothing. It wouldn't be a long ride. Roadhog situated Junkrat half across the fuel tank, half across his knees. “Jamison,” he said, angling Junkrat’s head in his direction as it lolled against the arm he was gripping the throttle with. With the other hand, he brought the mask over his face one more time. “Breathe.” Roadhog removed the mask and laid it on Junkrat’s chest. “Hold on to that.” He’d be needing it again. Better to keep it handy.

 

Junkrat glanced at the mask but didn’t grab it. He frowned, looking frustrated, puzzled. He was right handed, Roadhog realized. He took Junkrat’s left hand and laid it on top of the mask, but Junkrat had already zeroed in on the place where his other arm should have been. “What-”

 

“Breathe,” said Roadhog, again.

 

Junkrat began to sit up - or try to. Roadhog planted a hand flat on his chest. “Look at me,” he said. When Junkrat didn’t, he took the kid’s face in his hand, forced him to look away from what was left of his arm. His eyes were wide, scared, uncertain. “I’ve got you,” said Roadhog. “Okay?”

 

“Okay,” said Junkrat, voice unsteady and uncharacteristically small.

 

 

Roadhog drove. He drove toward the electric lights in the distance. They were headed back to Junkertown sooner than planned, it seemed. This was a damn stupid idea. It wasn’t too late to pull over and do what he had planned to do only a little while ago, he told himself. But it was. He knew it was.


	5. ...1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone has some regrets. Lots and lots of regrets.

Junkertown never slept. It had walls and gates, but those weren’t normally manned with anyone. They were mostly there to keep the law and omnics out - not that either had tried forcing their way into Junkertown in a very long time. Occasionally, people got hassled coming into town. Roadhog never had a problem with that. He didn’t have a problem this time either.

 

The darkness offered some anonymity but not much. With the commotion they’d made at the bank, it seemed inevitable that someone would recognize them. Roadhog was as ready as he could be for that. If the Junkers here organized long enough to converge on him, they weren’t making it out. They just weren’t.

 

There were plenty of doctors around. Shootings and stabbings were commonplace in town. An even semi capable surgeon could clean up, make himself a small fortune. Unfortunately, there was no way of knowing which ones weren’t swamped before Roadhog got to them. He had a feeling he was directly responsible for a lot of their business tonight.

 

Roadhog didn’t have a whole lot of time to scope out his best options. He parked his bike behind the first place he saw that didn’t have a neon sign out front. There were no patients inside, just a man in a white coat who jumped when Roadhog burst through the door.

 

“Christ!” the man exclaimed. Roadhog heard that a lot when he entered a building with any degree of urgency. At least it wasn’t the job before him that had the doc startled. He calmed down considerably when he saw Roadhog was just bringing him work. “This way,” he said, leading Roadhog into the back.

 

The setup wasn’t too impressive. Behind a plastic curtain there was what looked to be a sturdy kitchen table surrounded by some tools and questionable stains. He had a nurse, at least. The doctor gave her a kick on his way past to wake her up. There were old bloodstains on her scrubs and on the doctor’s lapel.

 

Roadhog laid Junkrat on the table. He slapped a stack of cash up there too, before anyone could ask. The kid was slipping in and out of consciousness, but he stirred when Roadhog pulled the mask from his hand. He grabbed for Roadhog’s wrist, and Roadhog let him have it, his hand and the mask lingering. He could see Junkrat was scared. There was every reason to be.

 

“That leg has to go,” said the doctor. He wasn’t being paid for his beside manner, but Roadhog would have appreciated if he’d at least sedated the kid a little more before blurting something like that. As it stood, Junkrat was sobering up fast.

 

“What?” Junkrat would have rolled himself right off that table had Roadhog not had a hand firmly planted on his chest. “No. No, no, no. No, thank you.” He made a sound like nervous laughter and twisted another way.

 

“Hold him,” said the doctor.

 

Roadhog was already doing that. He continued, even when Junkrat managed to twist enough to sink his teeth into the forearm that wasn’t holding him down. Roadhog swore, moving his left arm out of his reach. “Be still,” said Roadhog.

 

Junkrat was not still, not even a little bit. Fortunately, the nurse made it back with a syringe and length of rope. Roadhog only had to hold him down a few moments longer. The seconds still felt long. There’d been some slurred pleading, followed by the looks of someone grappling with how thoroughly they’d just been betrayed. It was a death sentence Roadhog was handing down. It would have been kinder to kill him. A one armed, one legged Junker on the run? That was the punchline of a bad joke.

 

The doors beyond the curtain burst open. Roadhog heard a couple of Junkers enter. Speak of the devil…

 

“I don’t give a shit if ya got hearing loss. I’m bleedin’ out here. Priorities, mate,” said one Junker to another. There were two. One was injured.

 

“A lot of business tonight,” said the doctor, snapping a latex glove on his wrist. “Bit busy here, boys! Sit tight in there for me, will you?” He nodded to the nurse, silently indicating she should go check on them while he got started. The nurse didn’t get the chance to go far. Footsteps were approaching fast. The curtain was flung back.

 

“Are you kidding me, asshole? We need medical attention here, so-” The stocky, bald Junker who’d opened the curtain stared. “Is that…”

 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” said the second Junker. He was a big guy with tattoos on his face. He was holding his bare shoulder as blood dripped down it. It looked like he’d caught some flying debris there, but he wasn’t going to drop dead from it. Not unless infection set in. “That’s him. That’s the guy, right?”

 

“I think so.” The stocky man’s gaze strayed to Roadhog. He seemed to be sizing him up. It took a minute.

 

“We should get the boss,” said the injured one. His friend shushed him.

 

“You bring ‘im in?” asked the stocky Junker.

 

Roadhog glanced back to Junkrat. The kid was out. The nurse had tied him down for good measure. Roadhog took a step forward, crowding the Junkers out of the doctor’s workspace. “Most of him.”

 

Both Junkers moved backward. The injured one laughed. The stocky one had to force a smile. “I heard he had a bodyguard.”

 

“Dead,” said Roadhog.

 

The stocky Junker looked Roadhog up and down again. If he thought he was being lied to, he didn’t call Roadhog on it. That was a good decision. “You cashing in?” he asked instead.

 

Roadhog was silent.

 

“Come meet our boss,” said the stocky one. “He’ll set ya up.”

 

“I’ve got a guy,” said Roadhog.

 

Neither Junker seemed to know where to go from here. They had more power in Roadhog’s current predicament than he liked. He hoped they didn’t catch on to that. All they needed to do was yell, raise the alarm. Roadhog couldn’t exactly kill them. Not here. You didn’t murder a doctor’s clientele when you’d just brought in a patient who’s life depended on his good graces.

 

The Junkers were exchanging looks. The injured one was a bit dim, but his friend had his mind on business. He was inclining his head toward the door. “We should find you a doc who’s free, eh?”

 

“The nurse is bringin’ drugs though? See? She’s gettin’ them out of the cabinet. I can… I can wait.” The injured one hadn’t caught on. This was getting tedious.

 

“Stay,” said Roadhog. “I’ll cut you in, if you stay right here. Make sure no one else waltzes in.”

 

The stocky man stared. He chewed at his bottom lip. He smiled a cautious smile. “Let’s talk business.”

 

 

 

Mako Rutledge had been a lot of things but not a murderer. Mako had killed, sure, but for a cause, for something bigger than his life or those he had taken. He had remembered the people he killed. It was Roadhog who lost count.

 

Now he supposed he had a cause again, but it wasn’t really worth lives. There wasn’t anything that made Junkrat better than the Junkers Roadhog killed. He told himself it was for Junkrat’s treasure. That needed to be kept out of the wrong hands. That helped some. Not enough, but some.

 

They should stay put for a while. A few weeks at least, said the doctor. There wasn’t time for that. Roadhog just brought the doc along at gunpoint. The Junkers helped them get out. They really did. They took one of Junkrat’s steel-jaw traps, handed it over to their boss, and said they found it two miles West - where they suspected Junkrat had holed up, sans recently deceased bodyguard.

 

It was a good distraction. Too good. Roadhog killed the Junkers to make sure the lie held until they made it to the coast. Three was too many to lie to and keep track of. He wouldn’t risk them getting suspicious or deciding they could just sneak off in the middle of the night, take Junkrat for themselves. Roadhog left their bodies a ways from the main highway, out where the animals could get at them easier. It didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel bad either. It was just something that needed doing - like killing Junkrat should have been.

 

Sometimes, Roadhog had these moments of clarity where he glanced over at Junkrat and wondered at what he was doing. The kid spent most of the journey doped up on strong painkillers. The time he was awake was rough. Every fifteen minutes, it was like he realized half of him was missing all over again.

 

“What the fuck!” seemed to be his go-to response. Roadhog never knew what to say, and the doctor wasn’t much in a talking mood, being a hostage and all. The first time, Roadhog tried to explain what had happened. Junkrat hadn’t been in much of a listening mood. After that, Roadhog mostly just sat silent and waited for the revelation to pass.

 

The anger wasn’t bad. What bothered Roadhog was the crying. Killing he was numb to, but there was always something unnerving about listening to a grown adult sob. That happened a couple of times. The first time, he pretended not to hear. Seemed like common courtesy.

 

The second time Roadhog lingered nearby for a while. He considered saying something, but he’d never been very good with words. “Hey,” he said to Junkrat’s back, laying a hand on his shoulder instead.

 

Junkrat threw a wide punch with his remaining arm. “Get off! Leave me alone!” he snarled, a good deal more succinct than his usual mouthy self. He curled up in his sidecar, using his blanket to keep himself out of sight and any sounds he made muffled.

 

Junkrat spent a lot of time in there. Even after they got themselves a spot in the cargo bay of a ship hauling scrap to Singapore. Roadhog had left the doctor at the docks with a little cash and a grumbled apology. Even he would have felt a twinge of guilt killing the poor bastard after all he’d put him through. Junkrat was, more or less, fine. Mostly less. He wouldn’t ask for help if he needed something. Didn’t matter if it was finding where Roadhog had stashed the pain medication or taking a piss. Finding him on the floor never got any less awkward.

 

It was hard to help, tempting to just do things for him. But Roadhog remembered touching Junkrat’s shoulder and how he had turned on him. So, Roadhog lingered. Eventually, Junkrat would cave. “Give me a hand, idiot. You can spare one, right? You’ve got two. That’s just a wealth of hands.”

 

Roadhog tried pointing out the advancements made in prosthetics since the war. “Knew a girl once. Metal arm. Worked like any other arm. Couldn’t tell the difference, except the color.”

 

Junkrat didn’t take much comfort in any of that. No surprise there. They were both handy in their own ways, but prosthetics? Roadhog wouldn’t know where to start. At any rate, it wasn’t something either of them had now or even had prospects of acquiring… or doing maintenance on… or replacing parts on when they inevitably broke.

 

So Junkrat slept, mostly. He didn’t say much. He didn’t want to carry conversations. He absolutely was not interested in playing cards or even Candy Land. By withholding pain meds, Roadhog could get him to eat something. He didn’t have much of an appetite otherwise. Curling up in that sidecar of his was the beginning, middle, and end of his day.

 

When Roadhog broke the silence, it was normally with something Junkrat didn’t care to hear. “You need to take a shower.”

 

“No,” said the mass of crumpled blanket in the sidecar.

 

Roadhog removed the pill bottle from his pocket, giving it a shake that carried the promise of a threat. He didn’t like doing it, but wouldn’t have Junkrat starving to death or letting infection set in. He’d done so much to keep him alive this long.

 

There was a cabin the crew let Roadhog use for showering. They probably would have given him a cabin to spend the voyage in, but he hadn’t pushed the matter. He liked the cargo hold. It was defensible, his bike was there, and there was no foot traffic through it. Coming up, the crew gave him a wide berth. They did the same when he had Junkrat in tow. The kid had given up quick this time and just let Roadhog carry him. He did, however, insist on undressing himself once they were actually in the cramped bathroom. “Think I could get some privacy? Huh?”

 

Roadhog stepped outside, and he waited. He waited through a string of cursing. He waited through a series of thuds that implied things were not progressing well. “Need help?” he asked after a stretch of uncomfortable silence.

 

“Of course I need help,” Junkrat snapped, sounding angry. Not at Roadhog, necessarily. Just in general.

 

“You’ll get used to it,” offered Roadhog.

 

“I don’t want to get used to it,” Junkrat shot back, glaring very pointedly at the wall as Roadhog hoisted him up.

 

“It’ll get easier. You’ll get better,” Roadhog insisted.

 

“Oh, that arm and leg are just growin’ back, are they?” Junkrat countered.

 

“No.” Roadhog touched Junkrat’s bruised ribs for emphasis, making the kid cringe. “Stuff that can heal will heal. We’ll deal with the rest.”

 

Junkrat got quiet and thoughtful after that. Roadhog couldn’t say if it was an improvement over the self pity. He turned on the water, and Junkrat sat in the spray of it, still saying nothing, doing nothing. What could heal would heal, but what if the parts that wouldn’t were integral to who he was?

 

“I’m sorry,” said Roadhog. He didn’t realize he’d actually said that out loud until Junkrat looked at him.

 

“What for?” asked the kid.

 

Roadhog realized he wasn’t sure. Was he sorry for not protecting Junkrat well enough? For not showing him mercy, not snapping his neck after the damage had been done? He couldn’t be certain.

 

When Roadhog didn’t answer him, Junkrat drew his own conclusions. “It’s not yer fault, mate. This was bound to happen eventually, eh?” Junkrat smiled but it seemed strained and sad and mostly for Roadhog’s benefit. “That’s what every cunt I ever worked with joked about.” He made a vague hand gesture and mouthed the sound of an explosion.

 

Roadhog didn’t point out that he hadn’t actually blown off his own arm and leg. “If you hadn’t we’d be dead,” he said instead.

 

“Ya can’t know that.” Junkrat looked away. He glared at the water swirling down the drain.

 

“Don’t,” said Roadhog.

 

Junkrat glanced over. His tone grew angry again, annoyed. “Don’t what?”

 

“Replay it in your head,” said Roadhog. Because he knew that look. He’d felt it on his own face over the years. “It’s done. It already happened.”

 

One of those tremors moved through Junkrat. He tried a glare, but it came out as more of a wince. He turned his head away. Roadhog could hear his breathing go funny.

 

“I’m sorry.” Roadhog said, again. He laid a hand on his shoulder, again - remembering too late what had happened last time he’d tried that.

 

But Junkrat didn’t take a swing this time. He shuddered. He touched Roadhog’s hand with his left. Junkrat turned then and gave Roadhog an appraising sort of look, like he was trying to figure out the amount of comfort he was being offered here.

 

“Come’ere, kid.” Roadhog leaned down and pulled him into a hug.

 

Junkrat tensed for a moment, but only for a moment. He moved closer, soaking the denim of Roadhog’s pants with water from the shower. His left arm wrapped around him. His forehead pressed against his shoulder.

 

For what felt like a very long time, they sat there like that. It had been ages since Roadhog had tried to comfort someone. People had told Mako he gave the best hugs. For Roadhog, well, he supposed this was a first. And now it was becoming strange. Roadhog was becoming achingly aware that Junkrat was naked in his arms. He recalled the time Junkrat had asked him if he wanted to fool around. He’d felt a kind of dull longing then. He felt it now.

 

Junkrat stayed right where he was. He seemed to be taking comfort in it, at least. Roadhog supposed that was what was important. Eventually, he was breathing easier. The worst of what he’d been feeling had passed. Once it had, Junkrat raised his head. He took in his surroundings, face flushed. “Shit, why didn’t ya tell me it got weird, mate?”

 

Roadhog gave a complete non-answer in way of a vague grunt and a shrug. He waited for Junkrat to push himself away, and in the end the kid did. Not before another one of those thoughtful looks had passed over his face, though. Roadhog couldn’t read it. Conveniently, Junkrat wrote it down for him later.

 

 

 

Roadhog had spent much of his day going through the scrap the ship was carrying. He couldn’t not. They had spent a lot of time down in the hold. He was carrying a few pieces he doubted they would miss back to Junkrat and the space he’d made for them between shipping containers.

 

“Oi.” Junkrat stirred in his sidecar when he heard Roadhog approach. He held out a playing card. He wiggled it emphatically when Roadhog didn’t immediately take it from him.

 

Roadhog dropped his scrap and accepted the card. For a moment there, he hoped maybe Junkrat had snapped out of that funk of his and wanted to pass some time with a card game. But no. The face of the two of diamonds had been marked up with blue ink pen. Words were written in the white spaces. Directions. “What’s this?”

 

“I was thinkin’, we were gonna travel the world, roight? Big scores, fifty-fifty, and good times, yeah? Fun?” Junkrat’s gaze went distant for a moment, maybe thinking of what might of been. “Well, I’m in a pretty sorry state for any worthwhile scores. This isn’t fun, and fifty-fifty of zilch is a shitty consolation for all ya did, so…” He waved a hand at the card. “There it is. There’s what everyone’s looking for… Not that exactly, but- Oh, you know what I mean. That should lead you straight to it.”

 

Roadhog looked down at the card. “Why?” He looked back at Junkrat.

 

“I’m not gonna force you to waste your talents on me, mate,” said Junkrat. “I’m sure there are plenty’a enterprising fellows out there looking for a bodyguard. Bet most of them have more than two thirds of a body for you to guard and everything.” He tittered with laughter at that last part, though it sounded more to Roadhog like a nervous tic than genuine mirth. When Roadhog didn’t say anything, his smile faded to an annoyed scowl. “So, consider that severance pay, or whatever. It was good doing business with ya.” Junkrat sank back into his sidecar. The silence stretched on, leaving Junkrat with some second thoughts. “Maybe I should have waited until we docked, huh?” At a minimum, they had another week stuck down here together. “Ah, well. Hindsight is twenty-twenty and all.”

 

“No,” said Roadhog.

 

“Fine,” grumbled Junkrat. “You got me. My hindsight ain’t that good.”

 

Roadhog crumpled the card and stuffed it into his back pocket. He’d toss it into the ocean later. It was a shame. They wouldn’t have a full deck anymore, but he couldn’t risk it falling into the wrong hands. “No,” he said again.

 

Junkrat turned to look at him again. “No, what?”

 

Roadhog said nothing. He felt certain Junkrat knew what he meant.

 

“You can’t just decide you’re not fired,” said Junkrat.

 

Roadhog still said nothing. He took the pill bottle from his pocket instead. It was about that time.

 

“Any of this getting through that fat head of yours?” Junkrat was getting frustrated. He could get mean when he was frustrated, and he was frustrated a lot lately. “I feel like I was pretty generous right now, so fuck off-” He noticed what Roadhog was holding. “Hand me one of those, then fuck off.”

 

Roadhog grabbed a piece of the scrap he’d gathered on his way over. He put a pill in Junkrat’s outstretched hand.

 

“Not like you’ve been a barrel of fun to be around,” Junkrat muttered before swallowing the pill dry. “Try going solo for a while. Bet you’d enjoy that. What was that thing ya called yourself? One Man Apocalypse? Go be that or find someone you like a hell of a lot more than me… Or, I don’t know. Someone you can tolerate. You don’t seem to like much.”

 

Roadhog took a seat next to the sidecar. Junkrat was right. He didn’t like much of anything. He looked at the kid, considered the time they spent together. “I tolerate you,” he said. He looked at him a moment longer, took in the eyes that always held that spark of mania, the hair that was… How and when did his hair catch fire? “I like you.”

 

Junkrat leaned away from him. “Why?” he asked, sounding baffled and a bit suspicious.

 

“Don’t know,” said Roadhog, putting a hand on Junkrat’s head to extinguish the flames there. “Just do.”

 

Junkrat still looked suspicious. “That’s a first,” he mumbled.

 

It was certainly a first for Roadhog. Mako was the one who had made connections and been burned for it. It had been a while since caring, since this particular kind of selfishness. Junkrat liked him, trusted him, wanted him to be happy even if they were apart. Sure, the kid had decided they were the best of friends after only a short time together. Sure, he was more than a little unhinged. (What Junker wasn’t?) It was a weakness, wanting more of that kind of thing from a person.  It made Roadhog feel like a person again. Not Mako. Still Roadhog, just a less abstract version of himself, like he had the beginnings of a purpose. Because mostly, right now, he wanted Junkrat safe. He didn’t want to think about what Junkrat would do without him, what he might have planned to do. Roadhog wanted to rob banks and conduct jewel heists, burglarize arcades and all the other schemes Junkrat had talked up when they sat together at the campfire. That sounded like fun. And nevermind caring. It had been an even longer time since fun.

 

Roadhog brushed some of the ash from Junkrat’s hair before withdrawing his hand. “Here,” he said, offering up a piece of the scrap he’d liberated from its shipping container.

 

“The hell’s this?” asked Junkrat, turning the metal in his hand.

 

“Leg, maybe?” It wasn’t much like a proper leg, but it looked sturdy. It looked like it could support weight and be easy enough to make repairs on. “Part of one. Could fit it into one into the knee joint off an omnic. Got some over there.”

 

Junkrat’s eyes moved past Roadhog, to the pile of scrap near his mattress. “What? You think you could make something like that?”

 

“Worth a shot.” Roadhog held an arm out to Junkrat. “Enough sleeping. Come help.”

 

Junkrat frowned. His eyes moved from Roadhog to the scrap then back again. Roadhog couldn’t have said why he was still suspicious. It was hard to guess what was going on in his head sometimes. In the end, he grabbed Roadhog’s arm, let him hoist him up and out. “You sure you don’t want to fool around?” he asked once he was sitting on the mattress.

 

Roadhog froze where he stood.

 

“Never been much good at reading signals.” Junkrat was already beginning to sound uncertain. “I thought, maybe- Nah, you know what? My bad, mate. Already gathered that I wasn’t your type before. Not sure why I’d be now, so- What’ve we got here?” He reached for the nearest piece of scrap.

 

Roadhog hesitated. It didn’t sit well with him. Junkrat thinking he’d misunderstood when he hadn’t. “You were my type,” said Roadhog. “You’re still my type,” he added, because that probably needed saying.

 

Junkrat smiled. He didn’t look like he was too sure what to do with himself beyond that. He fidgeted where he sat, restless in a way he hadn’t been for a while.

 

“We’re partners,” Roadhog reminded him, before he could get too excited.

 

Junkrat raised his eyebrows. “I mean, if that’s what you wanna call it…”

 

“You hired me for a job,” said Roadhog, rephrasing.

 

“Woah, we don’t _have_ to fool around. I know I’m the boss, but I don’t want to pressure you into anything.” Junkrat’s eyes darted away, growing suddenly, thoughtful. “Am I the boss, though? Because I can’t seem to fire you… Or get you to do just about anything I tell ya to, now that I think about it.”

 

Roadhog couldn’t be sure whether Junkrat was just fucking with him or not. Either way, his words didn’t seem to be having the impact he wanted them to. “I’m old enough to be your father,” he tried pointing out instead.

 

“Are you sure?” Junkrat frowned and looked Roadhog up and down, like he was trying to gauge his age. He shrugged in the end. “If you say so- Why? Is that something you’re into? Because I can call ya Daddy. I’ll try anything once.”

 

Roadhog took a deep breath, pushing his frustration down. “You’re not-”

 

“Not sure you could rightly call me ‘young.’ Honestly, I’ve been been around so much radiation I’m countin’ me age in dog years.” Junkrat motioned for him to sit down. “Come on. Take a load off, Daddy.”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Roadhog grumbled, but he did sit down.

 

“You’re over-thinking this whole fooling around thing,” said Junkrat, his attention returning to the scrap.

 

Roadhog could admit to himself that the kid was right about that, at least. Because now he was inordinately depressed, worried about Junkrat dying from the long term effects of radiation poisoning. He hadn’t even thought about that. How was a bodyguard supposed to protect him from that? He couldn’t even protect him from explosions - and being around Junkrat was a good ninety percent explosions.

 

Anything that happened between the two of them was bound to be impermanent. Stupid to start something. Stupid that part of him wanted to.

 

“Well, think on it,” said Junkrat, interrupting Roadhog’s thoughts. “Can’t fool around right now at any rate. Can’t get it up on these painkillers. And believe you me I’ve tried. There’s fuck all to do down here.”

 

Roadhog took a deep breath. “Don’t masturbate in the sidecar.”

 

“It’s my sidecar,” Junkrat reminded him. “And besides, I can’t anymore. You heard me.”

 

Roadhog decided to ignore the ‘anymore’ part and supposed he should be thankful for the crassness. If that didn’t kill the mood, nothing would. It hadn’t Roadhog realized quickly. God, he hated that it hadn’t.


	6. Play of the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roadhog and Junkrat fool around. Emphasis on "fooling."

Part of Roadhog wished he had never told Junkrat that he could tolerate him. A bigger part of Roadhog wished he had never told Junkrat he _liked_ him. No number of threats or amount of ignoring him could take that away. Roadhog had shown his hand.

 

Roadhog missed the silence. He missed being able to hear himself think. Junkrat never shut up. It was near impossible to get him to be silent for longer than a handful of minutes. Threats were no good because, again, Roadhog had shown his hand.

 

Mayhem drowned Junkrat out, for the most part. The screams, the screech of tires, the shattering of glass. It was hard to hear Junkrat over a continuous spray of fire from a Gatling gun. Sometimes, he heard his own laughter though, long and loud. It was fun. More fun than he’d had in a long time. He could admit that much, at least. Money, jewels, far off places and destruction. It was good and, all things considered, he’d had worse partners in crime.

 

The kid had gotten the hang of his prosthetics well enough. The leg they sorted out on their own. The arm took some incentivized help from a professional. They probably could have upgraded the leg while they had the guy at gunpoint, but Junkrat liked the leg. He was used to it, he said. Roadhog wasn’t sure if he liked it for sentimental reasons or just didn’t want to go through the awkward learning curve of swapping it out for something better. It certainly wasn’t the most practical thing. He limped with it, crouched more to keep his balance. Sometimes, it broke.

 

The leg broke on impact, mostly. The peg would snap or shatter, break off at the joint when he came down too hard on it. The mayhem turned bad when that happened. It turned dangerous in all the ways that weren’t fun. Usually, Roadhog was close enough to yank Junkrat over with a well aimed hook. He’d throw him over his shoulder and beat as hasty a retreat as he could manage. The evenings when something like that happened were the worst. Roadhog would finally get his silence, but only because Junkrat was sulking and punctuating said silence with some creatively worded outbursts.

 

“Fuck. Fucking shitty cunt fucking shit leg.” Junkrat threw the knee joint to the floor and slammed a metal fist on the ground beside it. Something in his hand made a stuttering kind of whirring sound. “Not you, too! No, no, no! I didn’t mean it!”

 

“Stop,” said Roadhog, shooting Junkrat a pointed glare as he worked on the prosthetic currently in pieces on his lap. He shoved the knee joint back to the kid so that he could keep working on it. There was another unusual whirring sound as Junkrat closed his fingers around the part. “I’m only helping fix one tonight,” said Roadhog, nodding to Junkrat’s arm.

 

Of course, he worked on both. Between the two of them, they had maintenance down. Roadhog wasn’t quite sure how he had ended up with the arm while Junkrat harassed passersby from the hotel room balcony. Some Philadelphia crime lord had put them up here. Roadhog expected the man would regret it in the morning. Even odds his hotel was in flames by then.

 

The television was playing footage from their most recent high speed chase. Roadhog only glanced up occasionally at it. The arm was small in his hands, the inner workings of it smaller still.

 

The door to the room opened and Junkrat entered dragging a trash bag full of linens and snacks. Roadhog wasn’t sure when and how he’d gotten off the balcony, but he seemed to have vandalized a vending machine and, maybe, a housekeeping cart on his way back. “Is it fixed yet?” Junkrat asked, looking over at the arm Roadhog was still working on.

 

Roadhog tossed it onto the mattress. Junkrat could finish it himself - a sentiment the kid didn’t take kindly to. “Don’t be like that, mate. I was just askin’. Look, I brought snacks.”

 

Junkrat tossed the contents of his trash bag on the bed. It was mostly pillows and junk food. You couldn’t really have enough of either, but it wasn’t going to work as a bargaining chip. Roadhog was finished. He grabbed a bag of chips.

 

“Come on,” he urged. “Please? At least help. You know I hate working on it. Freaks me other hand out, like it thinks I’m threatenin’ it… Don’t look at me like that. It does! It’s this whole subconscious deal. I- Oi, is that us?”

 

There was a new special on about them. Junkrat never got tired of those. Roadhog was rather fond of them himself. They watched it together from the bed. The frame and boxsprings had given out, which absolutely was not Roadhog’s fault this time. Junkrat’s first act upon repairing his leg had been to jump on the bed using a concussion mine.

 

Roadhog sat at the edge of the mattress now. Junkrat was stretched half across his lap, vying for a better view. He had his arm laid out in front of himself and was making very gradual progress. His left hand was still his clumsy hand. Tremors still made delicate work slow going unless it was explosives he was dealing with. Mostly he just kept getting lost in the television program. He’d laugh and punch Roadhog in the arm and go, “Hey, remember that?” Which, of course, Roadhog did. He had been there.

 

A segment where they had footage of the two of them retreating after his leg snapped made Junkrat look away. He kicked the legs stretched across Roadhog’s, frowned, and focused in on repairing his arm. As unnerving as that sort of thing was in the middle of a firefight, Roadhog knew fear wasn’t the only thing Junkrat hated about it. Made him feel fragile, he said - which was a laugh, knowing the guy, but that was the gist of it. Roadhog couldn’t say he knew what that was like. Feeling vulnerable. What he did know was that it troubled him some, knowing that about Junkrat - that he felt that way without the prosthetics. It troubled him now, whenever Junkrat took the arm and leg off for the night, went to sleep nearby. That much trust had never been something Roadhog wanted.

 

There was a lot Roadhog found himself wanting lately, though. He felt it at night, when Junkrat slept stretched out and still. He felt it now, with Junkrat twisting, restless, across his lap. Roadhog hadn’t forgotten what they’d talked about that night on the boat. He doubted Junkrat had either, though he no longer brought it up. Maybe, he’d decided again that Roadhog wasn’t interested. Maybe, he thought he’d just said all those things to humor him while he was low.

 

It had been so long. Roadhog had needs. Those needs weren’t being met jacking off in those precious few moments of privacy he found at night. Used to be, his fantasies were varied, ambiguous. Tits, ass, hard bodies, soft ones. Lately, his fantasies had taken on a much more specific form. It was Junkrat he was fucking, hand over his mouth or clamped tight around his throat. There seemed to be some considerable overlap between wanting the kid quiet and wanting sex. Roadhog wasn’t surprised.

 

“That’s good enough,” Junkrat said suddenly, tossing the arm he’d been working so carefully on into the floor. The show spotlighting them had ended. Junkrat sat up with a yawn and began to remove his leg, likely intending to do the same with it. And there it was again, that wrong feeling. It wasn’t because Junkrat was being careless was some rather important pieces of equipment. That wasn’t anything new. No, it was how comfortable Junkrat seemed to have become around him. Junkrat, who laid out a hostage for a particularly “suspicious” sneeze. Junkrat, who was convinced a shadow government could monitor you through electrical outlets.

“Nighty night, Hoggie. Don’t stay up too late now. Ya need yer beauty sleep.” Junkrat flopped over backwards onto the mattress, across pillows and candy bar wrappers. He would be out in minutes, if not seconds. The kid had the enviable ability to fall asleep when and wherever he dropped.

 

Usually, Roadhog was thankful for the quiet. If Junkrat hit the proverbial hay before he did, he usually took advantage of that time. He’d read a book or watch television if there was one or just sit quietly with his own thoughts. Tonight, his own thoughts were turning on him.

 

Fuck it.

 

Roadhog put a hand squarely on Junkrat’s chest. He gave him a shake. “Hey.”

 

Junkrat opened his eyes. He scowled up at Roadhog. “I’m not sleepin’ on the sofa again, mate. This is a king size, and your fat ass can share.”

 

This was a bad idea. “You wanna-” this was a terrible idea, “-fool around?”

 

It took a second. Roadhog could see Junkrat replay the question in his head a couple of times, making sure he'd heard right. Finally, he grinned. “Always. You got something in mind?” Whatever they were going to do, it was going to be done sans pants. Junkrat had already started squirming out of those.

 

Generally, Roadhog didn’t have a problem taking charge. Right now, though? Right now his tongue was stuck fast in his mouth. He wasn’t sure what to say, what to do. He felt nothing but nagging doubt, near certainty that he was gong to regret every moment following this one.

 

“Think I should put me arm on?” asked Junkrat. “Roight arm was always the handjob arm. ‘Course, these days, it’s a little cold and sometimes it pinches round the finger joints. A bit of a trade-off to be sure, but- You know what? I can’t in good conscience recommend it. When I try it m’self it’s like a robot’s trying to rip me junk off. You’re not into that, are ya?”

 

“No,” said Roadhog.

 

“No right hand then?” asked Junkrat.

 

“Get it if you want it.” It didn’t make a difference to Roadhog. He wasn’t sure what to expect from Junkrat between the sheets. He had no frame of reference.

 

“Without then,” said Junkrat. He bit the inside of his mouth. “To tell ya the truth, I don’t think I fixed it. Think you can take a look at it tomorrow… or tonight?”

 

Roadhog took a deep breath.

 

“Or tomorrow,” Junkrat said again. “Tomorrow’s good.” He pushed himself up and, with his left hand, reached to remove Roadhog’s belt. “Well, let’s see what we’re workin’ with here. Show me the goods.”

 

Roadhog swatted his hand away. He realized quick that was stupid. He was the one who’d suggested they fool around. Anything short of getting his dick out was foreplay. Better not draw this out any longer than need be.

 

“Hooley dooley.” Junkrat gave a low whistle once all of Roadhog was out in the open. “You’re just all kinds of big, ain’t ya?”

 

“Shut up,” said Roadhog, not optimistic that he actually would.

 

“Well, I can tell you what we’re _not_ doing tonight,” Junkrat said with a laugh. “Seriously though, mate. I’m gonna have to work up to that. It’d be that night in the truck stop all over again. No fisting on a first date… Not anymore- _Goddamn_ , that thing is huge.”

 

“This was a mistake," said Roadhog. He was ready to let Junkrat just have the bed. He needed to leave, go clear his head.

 

“Wait, wait, wait.” Junkrat moved fast. He had to lean his naked body across Roadhog’s to maintain his balance. His left hand caught Roadhog by the wrist, stopping him from pulling his dungarees back up - or trying to. Roadhog could have stopped him, but he hesitated. He could feel Junkrat’s skin against him, warm. He could feel his breath on his shoulder, and that was warm too. “We can do what you want,” said Junkrat, with no small amount of need in his voice. “What do you want to do?”

 

“Strangle you,” Roadhog said, plainly. His biggest obstacle to getting off right now was the sound of Junkrat’s voice.

 

“Okay,” said Junkrat, maybe a little too readily. He pulled up Roadhog’s hand and laid it against his throat. “Popular choice. Is that, like, a common thing people are into or-”

 

“I think it’s you.”

 

“Roight. That explains that.” Junkrat squeezed Roadhog’s hand, willing it to do the same. “Go on then.”

 

Roadhog could feel Junkrat’s pulse beneath his fingers. It was so fast. It was the first time in a long time he had seen Junkrat scared of him. Roadhog didn’t think he was scared he was going to get hurt. No, this was a different kind of fear that paired well with the need in his voice. Junkrat was afraid of rejection.

 

Who was over-thinking the whole fooling around thing now?

 

“What are you waiting for, a written invitation? Get on with it,” Junkrat grumbled. “You know, you were the one who started this. _I_ was asleep. If we aren’t doing anything, I’d appreciate it if ya just told me… And maybe jerked me off. Common courtesy. Shouldn’t leave a guy with blue balls. It’s not-”

 

Roadhog removed his hand from Junkrat’s neck, covering his mouth instead. The rest of the kid’s sentence was muffled and indecipherable. He glared at Roadhog, then he bit him. Roadhog’s left hand shot out instinctively, settling around Junkrat’s neck again, pinning him against the busted headboard but not squeezing. Beneath his right palm, he felt Junkrat grin. He felt his tongue next and watched with troubled fascination as Junkrat inclined his head and took one of Roadhog’s fingers past his lips. He brought his teeth down around the first joint. It was wide in his mouth, thick. Junkrat rolled it on his tongue once then pulled Roadhog’s hand closer, resting his teeth on the second joint. He sucked on it, smiled around it.

 

Roadhog felt that stab of want again. He felt it hard. He withdrew his hands from Junkrat’s mouth and throat, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pulled him onto his lap. Junkrat tittered with laughter. He draped his body across Roadhog’s stomach, grinding against his erection as he shifted his weight. That tongue of his came into play again, drawing a lazy circle around a nipple.

 

Roadhog looked down. Junkrat looked up, raising his eyebrows. He was waiting, waiting for some sort of instruction. Roadhog had none for him. It had been so long, even this felt good. Small things were getting him - like the subtle curve of Junkrat’s back beneath his hand, the inside of his thighs brushing against Roadhog’s cock when he moved.

 

Junkrat’s eyes gave Roadhog a quick once-over. “So, you want, like, a blowjob or-”

 

Before he could say too much, Roadhog silenced him. Two fingers this time. They scraped against Junkrat’s teeth. In and out they went. Junkrat took a deep breath in through his nose and gave a good effort, but couldn’t quite seem to make it past that first set of knuckles. To the kid’s credit, he didn’t seem to have much of any gag reflex to speak of. It was just a matter of size. As Junkrat had so eloquently put it, Roadhog was “all kinds of big.”

 

Junkrat reached down, his own fingers grazing the head of Roadhog’s cock. He fumbled down there for a few moments then grabbed him. Roadhog gave a grunt. He wasn’t fully erect yet and Junkrat wasn’t jerking him off or anything, but it had been so long since a hand other than his own had been down there. The hand on Junkrat’s back clenched, effectively knocking Junkrat off balance. Balance was something Junkrat was still struggling with, and both of them were more than a little distracted just then. Roadhog tried to steady him by grabbing his shoulder. It was no good. Junkrat had already resigned himself to the pull of gravity. He dropped onto several of his stolen pillows and laughed for no discernible reason.

 

Over the course of the time they’d spent together, Roadhog had noticed some variations in that incessant laughter. Junkrat laughed a lot. He laughed when he found something funny. He laughed when he was nervous. He laughed at his own expense sometimes, when he was frustrated with himself. He laughed like he was trying to beat everyone else at it, do it first and loudest. Sometimes, it was hard to tell why he was laughing. Sometimes, Junkrat probably couldn’t have told him either.

 

“Focus,” said Roadhog.

 

“Make me,” said Junkrat. He was looking up at Roadhog. He was smiling, the fire bright behind his eyes.

 

With one hand, Roadhog gripped Junkrat by the right hip. With the other, he reached beneath the small of the kid’s back. Junkrat bit his bottom lip as Roadhog’s palm slid down over his ass. Two of his fingers were still slick from Junkrat’s own saliva. He nudged one of those into him, earning another peal of laugher. “Christ!”

 

Roadhog was thankful for the mask, thankful that Junkrat couldn’t see him smiling and thankful for that thin degree of separation from what was going on. It was surreal, the feel of the kid’s skin against his own. The hand he had on Junkrat’s hip slid down the outside of his thigh, moving him so that he could work his finger in at another angle. The rounded end of the kid’s right leg drew Roadhog out of things a bit. It was easy to forget about until his hand was there, feeling something alien, ridged with scars but, at the same time, strangely smooth.

 

Junkrat squirmed like he was trying to put some distance between himself and Roadhog. Roadhog let go. Junkrat got a look on his face like he was having some very abrupt second thoughts.

 

“Okay?” asked Roadhog. It had been a long time for Roadhog, sure. He wasn’t sure how long it had been for the kid, but this had to be the first time since… well- since Roadhog had fucked up. Junkrat had never blamed him for that. Roadhog wasn’t sure what was going through his mind right then. Probably something to do with how he perceived himself and, when it came to Junkrat thinking about himself, he cycled through a lot of emotions. “Okay?” Roadhog asked again, cuffing Junkrat's chin upward, forcing some eye contact. The kid cycled through a lot of emotions, in general. He seemed to be doing that now.

 

Junkrat smiled, eyes lighting up like they always did when he was struck by an idea - often bad. “I have lube.”

 

“Okay,” said Roadhog. As far as Junkrat’s ideas went, that seemed like a safe one.

 

Junkrat leaned from the side of the mattress, grabbing one of the bags he usually wore on his waist from the pile of clothes on the floor. “Well,” he amended. “I’m not sure if it’s lube.”

 

“Okay,” said Roadhog, having second thoughts.

 

Junkrat shuffled through the bag. He pulled out a grenade and a pair of pliers before he prised a bottle from it. “Nicked it when we were in Japan,” he explained popping the lid. “Smells like strawberries.” He squirted a line across his knee and licked it off. “Tastes like strawberries. _Could_ actually be food. Ain’t sure. Been jackin’ off with it for a couple’a months and so far so good, so…” He reached for Roadhog’s hand. He unfolded a finger from Roadhog’s fist and lubed it up. He unfolded a second finger, lubed it up as well, and then seemed to have second thoughts. He folded it back down - though, not before waffling on the matter a few times. “Well, I don’t know… No… _Maybe_. But Christ, mate, your fingers are big. We’ll see how it goes… Maybe. No fisting!”

 

Roadhog wasn’t even sure that was physically possible. He pulled Junkrat onto one of his knees and brought one hand around behind him again.

 

“Why _are_ your fingers so big?” Junkrat asked, as soon as Roadhog’s hand was on his ass. “You always been this huge? Heard someone talk about you once. Idiot said it was the radiation, but that’s just a myth, roight? Radiation only works that way in comic books. Lotsa things you can get from radiation, none of ‘em useful. I mean, a tumor ain’t exactly a super power. Well, I mean, unless-”

 

“Shut up.” Roadhog reached to cover his mouth again. That had worked pretty well before. Junkrat caught his hand. For the second time that night, he guided it to his throat.

 

“Go on,” he said. “I’ve gotten used to it.” Roadhog began to pull his hand away, but Junkrat caught it again. “I like it,” Junkrat said, rephrasing. He gave Roadhog a wink. “Come on,” he urged, when Roadhog hesitated. “Grow a pair, you fat fu-”

 

Roadhog squeezed - not hard, but hard enough that Junkrat couldn’t keep talking. He was careful. Too tight for too long and the kid would just black out. Junkrat tensed. Roadhog was considering easing up, making sure this was what the kid really wanted when Junkrat reached down. Hand still slick from lubing up Roadhog’s fingers, he began to stroke himself. Whatever got him off, Roadhog supposed. Jesus, this kid was a mess.

 

Roadhog pushed a finger in. It slid in easier this time. Junkrat wheezed for air, and Roadhog eased his grip some for just a moment. He worked his finger in and out, probing back in with the tip of the second.

 

“Y-yeah… yes,” Junkrat managed, giving him the go ahead. “No fisting,” he added, which made Roadhog squeeze tighter… and wonder slightly at how and why he prioritized fisting as his greatest concern, presently. It was a tight fit. It would take a while to work a third finger up there, nevermind a fist. The only fist in play right now was the one tightening steadily around Junkrat’s neck.

 

Fortunately, Junkrat came quick. Roadhog let him go once he had, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder. Of course, Junkrat’s first action was to wipe his hand on the bedsheets. Roadhog swatted him in the back of the head for that, which sent Junkrat sprawling. Still, he was all smiles. “That’s way more fun with someone else,” he said, blinking up at the ceiling.

 

“Don’t do that alone,” said Roadhog, but he wasn’t sure the kid was paying attention to him.

 

“All roight then!” Junkrat sat up. He seemed to regret doing so for a moment there. “Did that too fast… Did the lights flicker in the room there for a second or- No? It’s fine! It’s probably fine. Lean back there, big guy.”

 

“Why?” asked Roadhog.

 

“Aww, come on Roadie.” Junkrat closed the rest of the distance between them, pressing his body to Roadhog’s, leaning across his stomach to give him a plaintive look. “Don’t ya trust me?”

 

“No,” said Roadhog.

 

Junkrat gave him a shove - one that was rather inconsequential given Roadhog’s size. “Just lean back, ya drongo.”

 

Roadhog might have taken issue with all of that, but then Junkrat grabbed his cock, and- well, there were a lot of reasons why it was hard to argue with a guy who had your dick in his hand. Against Roadhog’s better judgment, he leaned back onto his elbows. He couldn’t see much from this angle, but he could feel Junkrat’s hair against the base of his stomach and the kid’s hand on the inside of his leg. He had a good idea of what was about to happen before he actually felt his mouth.

 

It might not have be the best blowjob Roadhog had ever recieved, but Junkrat went about it with the casual confidence of a person who had done this more than a few times. He alternated between mouth and hand, fingers grazing Roadhog’s balls to see if he like that sort of thing. (He did.) He licked the length of his cock once he was fully erect, being slow about it, like he was trying to see if it frustrated Roadhog. (It did.) When he finally took him into his mouth, he did his best to take all of him. He didn’t come close, but he could feel the kid’s throat, and- God. It was a struggle to keep still. Junkrat drew back, tongue flicking across the head of his cock, and Roadhog lost that struggle.

 

Roadhog came. He got embarrassed at first, tried to resist it. In the end, he let it happen rather than ruin it. He dropped the rest of the way onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, spent.

 

“You wanna do anything else?” asked Junkrat. He climbed over Roadhog, looking down at him. “Huh?” he asked, when he didn’t get an answer immediately.

 

“No,” said Roadhog, giving Junkrat a shove so that he fell sideways and onto the mattress.

 

“We should do more later,” said Junkrat.

 

“Not tonight,” said Roadhog.

 

“I meant more in general.” It sounded a bit like Junkrat was haggling for sex. He didn’t want Roadhog to catch on that he was hard up for that kind of attention, but he clearly was. “If you want. I don’t care.”

 

Roadhog wasn’t sure what he wanted. He glanced over in time to catch Junkrat squirting a stream of strawberry maybe-lube onto his tongue. Was _that_ what he wanted? Junkrat? Surely not.

 

“Well?” Junkrat prompted. “By your continued silence, I’m just gonna assume yer already reminiscing and that I rendered ya mostly speechless with my sexual prowess. That good, huh?”

 

“No,” said Roadhog.

 

“Fuck off,” said Junkrat, sounding offended. Though it couldn’t have bothered him that much. The next time Roadhog looked over the kid was asleep.

 

Sleep didn’t come quite so easily for Roadhog. It didn’t come at all that night. He ended up heading off on his own after an uneventful hour or so of staring at the ceiling and listening to Junkrat snore. He watched some television, raided the mini fridge, took a shower. The sun was on the horizon when he stepped out onto the balcony.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When the sliding door to the balcony opened again, the city below was bustling. People were milling about on their lunch breaks, talking, laughing, loud, boring, controlled chaos. Roadhog didn’t look back. He knew it was Junkrat. He’d heard the kid roaming the hotel room calling his name for a while there.

 

“There you are! Why didn’t you say anything when I yelled?” Junkrat came around in front of Roadhog. His eyes moved from the mask sitting on the patio table to the prosthetic arm resting across Roadhog’s lap. “I thought you left.”

 

Roadhog held out the arm to him. He’d fixed it. He’d had nothing better to do. “Why?” he asked.

 

Junkrat didn't answer him. “Thanks,” he muttered instead, taking the arm. He sat it on the table, next to the mask. His gaze was lingering on Roadhog’s face. The mask didn’t come off often. It seemed to be distracting Junkrat now, like had even forgotten he _had_ a face other than the one he saw every day. “Hey, Roadie?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

Junkrat leaned against the banister. He bit the inside of his mouth for a moment, looking uncharacteristically reluctant to continue talking. “You remember when you said you liked me?”

 

“Did I?” asked Roadhog, making a point to sound skeptical even though he did remember.

 

Junkrat frowned, looking suddenly uncertain. He had a short and selective memory. “I don’t know,” he said, flushed. “I know you said you could tolerate me.”

 

“I guess,” said Roadhog.

 

“Yeah, well I tolerate you, too.” Junkrat glanced away. “I tolerate the hell out of you, mate.”

 

There was something or someone in Roadhog that smiled at that. He chuckled, which Junkrat didn’t seem to appreciate much. The kid probably thought he was laughing at him - which, to be fair, he was. Roadhog touched his wrist as he made for the door, likely meaning to take his leave now that he’d been embarrassed. Junkrat hesitated, looked down at Roadhog’s hand and then at Roadhog himself. He looked uncertain, probably more uncertain than Roadhog.

 

If he was being honest with himself, Roadhog wasn’t all that confused. He could push Mako down, pretend that was another person, pretend it was a lifetime ago. He could pretend he hated Mako, that what had happened hadn’t been bad decisions and worse luck. Easier to say Mako was weak. It was certainly a kind of weakness he was feeling now.

 

“You okay?” asked Junkrat, raising an eyebrow. There was a lot of silence and, for once, he seemed reluctant to fill it.

 

“Just tired,” said Roadhog.

 

“No shit,” said Junkrat. “Did you even sleep last night?”

 

It wasn’t that kind of tired. Well, it wasn’t _only_ that kind of tired. Roadhog didn’t mention that. There was no point. Instead he held out a hand.

 

Junkrat looked down at it for several long seconds. “What?” he asked, but he seemed to instinctively know ‘what.’ He put his hand in Roadhog’s.

 

Roadhog pulled him in. With his other hand, he angled the kid’s head. He kissed him.

 

Junkrat pulled back. He was tense, his eyes were narrowed, suspicious. Finally, he gave a shrug and kissed him back. It was stiff, oddly chaste given what they’d done last night. There was no Mako in the kid’s past. A Junkrat was who he was. It was what he’d always been. Affection didn't suit him.

 

“Yer bein’ weird,” said Junkrat. But there was something telling about the way he stayed close for a moment, the way he touched Roadhog's cheek, and the way his lips grazed his forehead before he pulled away. “Get some sleep, big guy.”

 

Roadhog was Junkrat’s bodyguard, sure. He might not be the best at the job, but he wanted the kid safe, happy. It seemed a hell of a lot like Junkrat wanted the same for him. He stood. He began to head back inside, get maybe an hour or two of shuteye. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m asleep,” he warned Junkrat, noting the thoughtful way he was peering down at the streets below.

 

Junkrat promised he wouldn’t. Roadhog didn’t believe him for a second.


End file.
